The Grey Eyed Goddess
by Pickwick12
Summary: The day 007 meets his daughter is the day her life turns upside-down, leaving James Bond to juggle a kidnapping, the meaning of fatherhood, and a grown-up daughter with her eye on a certain Quartermaster. Post Skyfall.
1. The Grey-Eyed Goddess

**The Grey-Eyed Goddess**

_The ancient Greeks believed that the goddess Athena was never a child. Instead, she sprung fully formed and adult from the head of her father, the god Zeus._

The girl is sitting in a leather chair in M's anteroom, her legs tight together and her fingers clenched so stiffly around the small metal box in her lap that they've turned white. She is wearing black trousers and a plain grey jumper. Her shoes are flat and faded from their original black. She's twenty or twenty-one, he thinks.

Her eyes are grey like her wool jumper, but instead of being drab and plain, they are luminous. The rest of her is highly unremarkable, the result of his genes. He's a little bit sorry about that.

"Sophia?" His voice sounds huskier and more halting than he intended.

"Mr. Bond?" She stands up quickly, but she doesn't really look at him. Her gaze bores into the wallpaper to the right of his head.

"Come in," he says, and she follows him into M's inner office, which has been left vacant for him. He sits in one of the large chairs in front of his boss's desk, and his daughter takes the other, still holding tightly to her box.

"I haven't come here to get anything from you," she says. Her voice is soft but clear, and she stares out the window, her eyes as far from him as they can possibly be. "I just came to give you this." She intends to sound assured, he can tell, but he's used to listening for undertones, and he hears how much effort it takes for her to keep her voice level.

She turns to him finally and holds out the tarnished metal box. He reaches out to take it, but her eyes stay trained on her hands, and she does not look up. He resists the urge to brush her fingers with his own. He doesn't want to upset her, but he can see that her hands are freezing, and his are always warm.

"Thank you," he says, not knowing what else to say. He starts to open the box, but his daughter gets up and turns toward the door.

"I'll go now," she says.

"Wait," he says firmly, thinking she probably won't.

She stops dead with her back to him, and he finishes opening the box. All it contains is a tattered rope bracelet. When he sees it, his mind casts back to a summer in Venezuela when he walked down the street hand-in-hand with an expatriate British prostitute with the most beautiful grey eyes he'd ever seen.

"What happened to her?" he asks.

"She was stabbed in a bar in Chelsea, and she died the next day." The girl comes and sits back down opposite Bond, and he can tell that something is keeping her in the room that has nothing to do with the force of his personality.

"There's one more thing. I promised her I would—tell you that you were the best man she was ever with." She spits out the end as if it's monumentally difficult for her to say. Instead of standing back up, she stares at the floor. "I did it," she says, almost like she's talking to herself instead of Bond. "Now I won't have to feel guilty."

Bond usually likes to comfort himself with the idea that the women forgot him as quickly as they think he forgets them. The idea that anyone has ever considered him a high point in life is so ludicrous it's almost beyond belief.

"I guess I should thank you." For the first time, the girl called Sophia really looks at him, though she looks away a moment after. "You're the only reason she didn't have an abortion. She regretted it after I was born, but at the time she was so in love with you that she couldn't make herself do it."

Bond has no idea what to say. It's been quite a while since he's been around a woman and felt himself at a total loss. All he can think about is the unwelcome desire choking him, a desire to somehow prove to his daughter that he isn't a bad man. Of course, he thinks, that would be an impossible task, since he's as bad as her imagination can possibly be painting him and probably much worse.

The girl stands up. "I won't bother you again, Mr. Bond." It sounds strange to hear his name out of her mouth. It's perfectly normal, and that's the strange part, coming from the lips of his only child. _Well, the only one he knows about _he admits to himself.

Impulsively, Bond reaches out and takes a piece of paper and a pen from M's desk and writes something down quickly. "Here," he says, standing up and holding it out to Sophia. "That's my telephone number in case you ever need anything."

"Oh," she says. He wants to yell at her to look at him—really look at him—but he doesn't let himself. Instead, he watches her leave the building and realizes with frustration that he wishes she'd stayed. He doesn't really know why.

* * *

Sophia returns to her East End flat via the Underground. She doesn't feel anything. Well, that's not strictly true. The split second she allowed herself to meet her father's eyes stirred up emotions she doesn't want to feel, and they are hard to completely eradicate. She clutches the piece of paper with Bond's phone number on it tightly. She'll throw it away at home, she thinks.

The flat is dark when she arrives, which is strange. Kara should be here. Her foot crunches as she steps through the doorway, and she feels her stomach clench. She turns on the light.

The living room is strewn with broken glass, paper, and even the stuffed animals from her sister's bed. For a moment, Sophia is immobilized with horror. When she can move again, she rushes to Kara's room. It's empty. Somehow, her mind registers that there's no sign of blood anywhere. She wonders if that's a good thing or not.

She realizes far too late that whoever did the damage might still be in the flat. Thankfully, they're not, and she's alone. She dials the police emergency number. At least she has enough brain left to do that. She wonders if she's in shock.

The operator asks for her emergency, and with a shaky voice she answers, "My sister Kara is missing, and my flat's had a break-in." She gives her address, feeling a surreal lack of connection with what's happening, as if she's watching herself in a movie.

* * *

**A/N: This is my first James Bond story. I hope you enjoy!**


	2. A God on the Warpath

**A God on the Warpath**

_Zeus was the most powerful of all the Greek gods, but Homer's _Odyssey _reveals his special fondness for his daughter Athena, goddess of wisdom and war. _

"I've had a hit on Bond," says Q, rushing breathlessly into M's office, breaking every MI6 office protocol in the world.

"What do you mean?" asks Eve Moneypenny, looking up from her perusal of _Instyle Magazine_.

"I have a program that tracks online information related to all agents. Bond's daughter just called in a burglary and missing persons report. I thought he'd like to know."

"But she was here earlier, wasn't she?" asks Moneypenny.

"Yes," Q answers.

"Call Bond," Mallory intones from behind his desk.

The Quartermaster punches in the number. He has no idea where 007 is. No one has seen him since the morning, and he's not tracking him since he's not out on a mission.

"Bond?"

"What is it, Q?" He sounds irritated, as usual.

"Your daughter—her flat's been trashed, and she's reported someone named Kara missing."

Bond hangs up on him immediately. That, Q surmises, means he's sprung into action.

* * *

Sophia sits in her living room, still unable to focus on the destruction around her. The female cop in front of her keeps asking questions, and she feels like it's the same ones over and over. When did she last see her sister? When was she supposed to be home? Did she move anything when she got home? Where has she been? Two other cops take pictures and write things down.

After an hour, she hears footsteps in the hallway outside, and a man appears in the doorway. It takes her a second to register that it's Bond—her father. Her brain is foggy, but she wonders what he's doing there.

"Sir, you can't come in here." The female cop's voice is strident.

Sophia watches as her father takes a card out of his wallet and show it to the young woman, who looks shocked. "This is mine now," he says tersely. "Tell your team to go ahead and run everything through forensics, but you won't be needed after this."

"Yes, Sir," says the policewoman. Sophia wonders what in the world has happened. She'd thought her father was some kind of low-level, pencil-pushing government bureaucrat. Her mother's stories about what he really did—only ever told when she was very drunk—had always seemed like outright fantasies. Now she wasn't entirely sure.

The cop and her two associates are gone in five minutes, and Bond comes over to Sophia. "Get up," he says. "You're not safe here. You'll have to come with me." She dislikes being told what to do, especially by a near-stranger, but this doesn't seem like a time for argument, so she follows him. "Leave everything the way it is," he says. She wonders how long he expects the arrangement to last. He leads her to a big, black car. Sophia doesn't know much about cars, but she can tell that it's expensive, probably worth about thirty of hers.

* * *

Bond has no idea what to say, so he doesn't say anything. He's seen numerous people in various states of shock, and he recognizes that his daughter is in the middle of the process, with time remaining before she comes out of the initial numbness that comes with trauma.

"Who's Kara?" he finally asks, thinking it might help her to talk.

"My sister," she says. "Mum didn't realize she was pregnant until too late that time."

"You take care of her?"

"She's only fourteen. We've always been together," she answers.

"I'm taking you back to MI6—where I work" he says quickly, realizing how confused his daughter must be, "and then I'm going to find your sister."

She doesn't ask any of the myriad questions he expects. She just sits silent for a moment and finally asks, "Why?"

"Did your mother tell you what I do?" he asks in return.

"Yes," she answers, "but I didn't believe her."

"I'm better at certain things than the police," he adds.

"You haven't answered my question," she says, quiet but dogged.

"Fine," he says. "I'm doing this because I'm your father. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," she says, as the car arrives at MI6.


	3. Wise Telemachus

**Wise Telemachus**

_The goddess Athena was especially fond of Telemachus, the son of Odysseus. Though merely human, his wisdom was nearly the equal of hers._

Sophia follows her father—she has started to think of Bond that way—back into the building where she first met him in the morning. She can't believe how much has changed in a few short hours. She looks around curiously, and everything takes on a different character now that she knows her mother was telling the truth when she talked about James Bond's job.

"007," says a breathless voice behind them, and she turns and finds herself face-to-face with an adorable, compact man in giant glasses. His hair is insane. He looks like he belongs anywhere other than the British intelligence service.

"What is it, Q?" asks her father.

"I was about to call you. Someone's taken responsibility for the kidnapping, some of your _old friends_."

Bond's eyes open wider, and Sophia feels her stomach clench. So it is a kidnapping. Despite the evidence to the contrary, something in her had hoped it was all somehow a mistake.

"Sophia," says her father, turning to her, "go in there and wait for me." The inclination of his head indicates a door off the hallway. "If it gets too late, I'll have somebody drive you to my flat."

Sophia stares at him for a moment. "No. I want to know what's happened to my sister." She sees a muscle twitch in Bond's jawline, and his displeasure is palpable.

"I—don't mind if she comes along," says the soft, deferential voice of the man her father called Q. "She won't hear enough to do any damage. She's already involved anyway."

"Fine," Bond says, looking at her, "but if I leave, you _will _stay here, and you _will _go to my flat."

"Fine," says Sophia grimly. She doesn't realize how identical she sounds to her father when she says it.

* * *

_Two Bonds, how extraordinary_, Q thinks. Of course, it's not at all shocking that Bond's escapades should have produced at least one child, but he'd never have expected her to look or act quite so much like her father.

Her eyes, however, are her own. Even as he leads father and daughter to his department, the image of their grey depths is a pleasant feeling, reminding him of the color of the sky just before rain. He loves rain.

Once they reach Q Division, the Quartermaster pulls up a chair for the girl and finds a cup of tea somewhere, which he presses into her hand. While he does so, he speaks quickly, trying to bring Bond up to speed as fast as he can.

"It's Fullbright. They sent an email through an account I hacked months ago. It was obviously intended for me to find. It's a basic threat. They want you. Carlisle has a certain personal vendetta after your previous encounter."

"They want me, or what?" Bond asks.

Q looks over at the girl, not wanting to say the obvious. He only nods. They all know the threat is death for the younger girl.

"They made a mistake. They think Kara is your daughter."

"That's something we can use," says Bond. Q agrees, but he's somewhat amazed at 007's evident detachment. He's been with MI6 for over a year, and even now, he can't separate himself from the stress. Textbook Bond, though.

* * *

James Bond is irritated. Every time he sees his daughter sitting calmly to the side of things, he feels intense concern, and that's not something he can afford. He needs to be cold, calculating, dispassionate. That's what gets the job done every time. Emotion kills.

He can't help himself, though. She looks so ridiculously vulnerable, all the more because she's trying so hard to look like she's all right. Her shock is starting to wear off, and he can see the fear beginning to take its place.

Q punches numbers into his keyboard, and on his oversized projection screen, Bond can see his web as it closes around Fullbright, tracking all known communications and trying to narrow down possible locations. If they've already taken credit for the kidnapping, they will surely provide a way for Bond to contact them. It's only a matter of time.

He crosses over to where his daughter is sitting on a flimsy metal chair. She looks up at him, pale and small. "I will find her, and I will bring her back," he says, knowing even as he articulates the words that it's irresponsible to make the promise. But he can't help it.

A single, unwanted tear escapes from his daughter's eye, and he wipes it away with his thumb. She touches his hand lightly. He hopes that means she trusts him.


	4. Goddess on Fire

**Goddess on Fire**

_The wisdom of the goddess Athena and the all-surpassing authority of her father Zeus did not prevent the two deities from having bitter conflicts over many things, including how to handle various human situations. _

"Sir, someone's just called the anonymous tipline and asked for you. He says it's about James Bond's daughter," says a young woman whose desk is several feet from the Quartermaster's, in the pool of eager young people who, Bond assumes, do hacking of some kind for MI6. He isn't a bad hacker himself, but he can't imagine sitting at a desk and doing it all day every day.

"Send the call to me," says Q, and Bond watches as he answers it through a headset connected to his computer. Sophia quickly jumps to her feet and comes to stand beside him, waiting impatiently like a car trying to rev in neutral.

"Quatermaster speaking," says Q, a little breathlessly.

"I have the girl," answers a low male voice with a London street accent.

"Tell him to send us a video and prove it," hisses Bond, feeling his anger rise.

"Prove it," Q says into his headset.

"I'll put her on the phone," says the voice, and Bond hears his daughter's sharp intake of breath.

"Hello?" says a high-pitched, childlike voice.

"That's Kara!" says Sophia, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Stay over here and don't talk," Bond whispers forcefully into his daughter's ear, knowing how cruel he must sound. "It's to our advantage if they don't know about you. We don't want them figuring out they've got the wrong girl." Sophia goes dead quiet and stands as still as a statue.

"Please come and get me," the girl's voice pleads, and then they hear the sound of static and the male voice returns.

"This is simple. You send us Bond, and we let the girl go. Anything less, she dies. Any reinforcements, she also dies."

"Where can 007 contact you?" asks Q.

"You'll figure it out," says the surly voice, hanging up.

Bond stares straight ahead, but he can feel his daughter's gaze, and it's almost malevolent. He's glad. If she's angry at him, it might give her some relief from the fear and anxiety she must be feeling.

* * *

Sophia is furious. Ever since their arrival back at MI6, she's sensed a change in her father. He's no longer the tentative, uncertain man of the morning. He's firmly in his own territory, both literally and figuratively.

She's not a child, and she doesn't want to be treated like one. She seethes inwardly as she thinks about the desperation in her sister's voice and the fact that she might have been able to relieve a little bit of that desperation if she'd been able to let Kara know she was there. Surely a single hello wouldn't have been enough for the kidnappers to figure out the truth.

Or maybe it would have been. The thing that makes her the angriest is that Bond was probably right.

She sits back down dejectedly, only half listening as Q and her father discuss the technical aspects of tracing the call's origin. She's not paying attention, so it catches her off guard when Bond takes his place behind her chair and puts a big hand on her shoulder. She does not pull away.


	5. Faithful Penelope

**Faithful Penelope**

_In Homer's _Odyssey, _Penelope is the personification of absolute faithfulness. _

Eve Moneypenny paints a third coat of purple polish on her fingernails. It's not because she has nothing to do; being M's assistant is plenty demanding, but something about creating perfect, curved, flawlessly painted nails gives her a sense of mastery over the world. Working at MI6 doesn't give anyone a sense of mastery over anything, unless they're delusional. The world is too uncertain of a place. Still, she feels a small sense of satisfaction every time she achieves a perfect manicure.

"Moneypenny, this is my daughter Sophia." Bond bursts into her office with a young woman in tow.

"Hello," says Eve, smiling cordially and holding out her right hand, thankful that her polish is a quick drying formula. The girl takes it, but she doesn't smile.

"This is Eve," Bond continues, looking at his daughter, who, Moneypenny notices, glances back at him with a fascinating mixture of curiosity, anger, and appraisal.

007 takes a key out of his pocket and presses it into the girl's hand. "This is the key to my flat. If I don't come back before tonight, Eve will drive you home."

"Ok," says Moneypenny. No one's asked her. She's used to it; it's not Bond's style to ask. Not like she minds anyway. Half of her job is doing personal favors to keep things running smoothly. Bond leaves the office without another word.

"Have a seat," says Eve brightly, trying to figure out how to put the girl at ease.

"Thanks," Sophia answers, taking her place in front of the desk.

"You want to talk about what's going on?" asks Moneypenny. She sees no purpose in being indirect, and if she were in the girl's shoes, she'd want someone to talk to.

"Not really," says Sophia, staring at her hands. "My sister's been kidnapped, and they say what they're doing now is too classified for me to see." She clenches her fingers together.

Eve pulls a stack of magazines out of her desk, but she's entirely unsure if the girl will even be interested. She's not exactly dressed like a fashionista. Nevertheless, she picks out a _Vogue _that's two months old and starts paging through it.

"Uh," says Eve, wanting to say something else but unsure how to begin. Sophia looks up, and Moneypenny notices that her eyes are striking—as striking as Bond's, but they're the color of the ocean in a storm, not the sky blue of her father's.

"Just—your dad is ok," says Eve. "I almost killed him, and he wasn't even upset." She can't help smiling.

* * *

Sophia shuts her magazine and leans forward. This is something she wants to hear.

"Last year, we were working together, and I took a shot that was supposed to hit somebody else, but it hit your father instead. He's never stopped teasing me about it, but he wasn't mad. He's cool. You know?"

"Yeah," says Sophia, but she doesn't. She's never been inside a world where people take shots as part of a normal workday, and she's not really sure how the story is supposed to make her feel.

It would be all right, she thinks, if he was just a random cop working the case. He's not, though. He's her father, and as much as she hates to admit it, she realizes that even while they work to get her sister back, they're also engaged in the most awkward of father daughter dances. Bond wants to lead; she's not sure she wants to let him.

* * *

_Eve will make it work_, Bond thinks as he legs it back to Q division. _She's good with people_. He pushes down the unsettling feeling that he gets whenever he thinks about his daughter's face. She's fraying at the edges, and he has no time to comfort her.

He nearly bumps into Q, who meets him in the middle of the hallway. "I've sent a map to your phone," says the small man rapidly.

"Good work," says Bond, meaning it.

"It was nothing," Q answers, "a simple case of using a program I created to track phone signals and then eliminating all the buildings in the area that wouldn't work as hideouts. I was only able to narrow it down to three possibilities—buildings that stand next to each other in central London."

"Fine. What's my fastest route?"

"Driving," says the Quartermaster. "It may take a while, but they don't seem to be interested in disappearing before you get there." 007 leaves immediately, resisting the temptation to visit Eve's office one more time to tell Sophia that everything will be all right, even if he's not sure it will.


	6. Mount Olympus

**Mount Olympus**

_In Greek mythology, Mount Olympus is the home of the goddess Athena and the god Zeus._

Bond puts in his earpiece en route to the MI6 garage. "I'm with you," says Q's perfectly articulated accent into his eardrum. He'd never admit it, but he's glad to be connected to the Quartermaster. Since his return to work, he's learned the tiny, fussy man's value. He might be rubbish at anything requiring physical skill, but his brain is without equal.

The engine of Bond's Aston Martin purrs as he revs it, almost like it's happy to see him. He pulls out onto the road and makes his way into traffic, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes whenever he begins a mission in earnest. This one is different, though. Usually, he works for England, trusting M that whatever he's asked to do has a legitimate purpose. This time, he knows exactly what's at stake, and he can't silence the worry that gnaws at him. He can't afford to lose this time, and that's a bad position to be in. At least no one at MI6 has tried to stop him; they knew how futile it would be.

Traffic is always heinous in central London, and Bond curses under his breath when he's cut off for the third time. "I heard that," says Q.

"Great," Bond answers, "you can learn a new word to tell the other kids on the playground."

After an hour, he finally reaches the part of the city where Fullbright's call originated. It's quiet and industrial, not at all the sort of place that looks sinister enough to be the hideout of a criminal organization. Then again, Bond knows, criminals rarely pick seedy places.

007 parks three streets away from the flashing dot on Q's map that marks the corner where the three buildings lie that might contain his daughter's sister. He doesn't know what he's going to do; he needs to find out where the girl is, and then he'll formulate a plan. The Quartermaster is on standby with the might of MI6 at his disposal if needed.

It's quiet. Bond hates quiet. Hiding is easy enough when you're on a street filled with cars and people. It's much harder when all that's around is silent office buildings and a car or two passing by every few minutes.

He doesn't believe for a split second that Fullbright will let the girl go. His noble sacrifice would only mean the loss of an agent and the later loss of the child. Carlisle isn't stupid enough to think he'd go for the story, either. It's simply a cat and mouse game meant to lure him out into the open.

Many years before, he might have been shocked that anyone would use a little girl as bait. That surprise is now completely gone after everything he's seen and done. Now he's just angry. It doesn't matter that Kara isn't his daughter. She's Sophia's sister, and that's closer to feeling like the same thing than he'd ever have thought possible.

As he inches his way closer, skulking down alleys and hiding in the shadows of old stone buildings in case anyone is watching, images of M's face come unbidden to his mind. Not Mallory's placid visage—no, the beautiful face of the woman he always called Ma'am. He hates psychology, but even he has to admit that her death still bothers him. If any harm came to the little girl—well, he won't let that happen—but if it did, it would feel like another crushing failure. That's what M's death still feels like—failure. He's heard all the consoling words, even said some of them himself, trying to reassure his mind that she died well, in the field, the way she'd always wanted. But it's not enough. His mind replays that night over and over, and he still thinks he could have saved her.

"007, are you almost there?" Q asks, jerking Bond from his unwelcome reverie.

"Getting there," he mumbles softly. "This isn't exactly a paradise for covert activities."

"Unfortunately, Fullbright didn't consult me when they selected their location," the Quartermaster drily rejoins.

* * *

"We should go," says Eve, and Sophia looks up at the sound of her voice. It's been an hour and a half since her father's departure, and in the interim, she's managed to look through every one of the older woman's magazines.

"It's not like we're doing any good by being here," Moneypenny continues. "You'll be more comfortable at your dad's flat."

"Ok," says Sophia. She doesn't really care. Her stomach feels like it's being eaten alive by the worry that won't let go of her. If she succeeds in putting Kara out of her mind for a split second, her father is there to take her place.

She follows Eve to her car, a small compact that couldn't be more different from Bond's car if it tried. "Are you hungry?" asks the older woman. "We could get something to eat."

"No," says Sophia shortly, and Moneypenny appears to understand because she doesn't press the issue any further.

Bond's flat is only twenty minutes from MI6, in a fashionable part of London that Sophia hardly ever ventures into. His building is unbelievably posh, but the whole day has been so strange that she follows Eve inside without really taking in the crystal chandeliers and smartly dressed staff.

Once they reach the third floor, the older woman puts in a security code and unlocks a door. "This building is under MI6 surveillance at all times," she explains. "You don't have to worry about anything while you're here."

Sophia looks around as she walks into the flat. It's huge and modern and beautiful, which she finds odd. Bond didn't strike her as the kind of man who would have the taste needed to create such a beautiful space.

"Nice, isn't it?" says Eve, seeming to ascertain the direction of her thoughts. "Your dad had it done to his specifications. He's very particular about certain things."

After a moment, Moneypenny adds, "Would—you like me to stay with you?"

"No, that's ok," says Sophia. And it is. She's not used to Bond's world, but she's not a little girl. She will cope on her own.

"All right," says Eve. "I'll leave you to it, then." She puts the key on the island in the large kitchen and leaves.

Sophia walks through the entire flat slowly, suddenly seized with a desire to know as much as she can about her father's living space. He's neat; that's for sure. There's nothing at all out of place. The kitchen is well stocked. She assumes he can cook, judging by the raw ingredients he has on hand. A little bit of investigation reveals that he has a huge collection of alcohol. Not very surprising.

The living room is comfortably impersonal, with a chocolate brown sofa and beige pillows, a large, flat-screen TV, and a burgundy throw blanket. The flat has two bedrooms. One of them is obviously unused. It contains only a bed covered with a white duvet.

She feels strange about venturing into her father's bedroom, but her curiosity is too strong to let her stay away. She tiptoes inside and finds a king-sized bed, dresser, wardrobe, and closet. Fascinated by feeling herself in Bond's world, she opens the wardrobe and finds that it's lined with metal and contains a staggering collection of guns. She closes it quickly.

Her next stop is the closet. She opens it and is instantly captivated by her father's clothing. She's never lived with a man, and the sheer volume of white shirts and black jackets amazes her. She touches the luxurious fabric of one of his dinner suits and wonders what kind of event calls for such a thing. Not something she's ever been to, at any rate.

"Having fun?"

Sophia's vocal cords won't make a sound, even though she feels like screaming in surprise. A moment later, though, her brain makes the connection that the voice she's just heard belongs to James Bond. She turns to find her father in the doorway of his bedroom, wearing an amused smile.


	7. Ambrosia

**Ambrosia**

_Ambrosia is the food of the Greek gods and goddesses. _

"Where's Kara?" Bond's daughter faces him, still blushing from being discovered in his room. He wants to look away, to evade her gaze. That's a funny thing, considering that just a few hours before, he'd been aching for her took look at him.

007 forces himself to hold eye contact. "It was a dead end. Fullbright wasn't there, and neither was your sister." He speaks steadily and clearly, wanting to avoid confusion.

"Oh," says Sophia, and for a moment he thinks she's going to lose the iron control she obviously considers so precious. Instead, she clears her throat and walks past him out of the room.

Bond closes the door and takes off his suit, changing into khaki trousers and a blue t-shirt. No reason he needs to be dressed up to wait for information from the Quartermaster. When he emerges, he finds his daughter sitting on his leather sofa. She looks up and half smiles, which surprises him. "I thought you only came in the suit version," she intones drily, earning a low laugh from Bond.

"I'm sorry we don't have your clothes. You can wear something of mine if you want to. You already know where I keep everything," he teases, hoping to distract Sophia from her worries.

Surprising him again, she takes him up on his offer and disappears into his bedroom. It takes her ten minutes to find something suitable, and Bond expects to laugh loudly when he sees her. Instead, when she comes out wearing one of his black hooded sweatshirts and a pair of blue drawstring sweapants that are far too big for her, he just stares. It's like having a miniature version of himself in his house. A miniature female version, that is. She raises one eyebrow, as if she's daring him to crack a smile. He doesn't.

"I'm hungry," he says, breaking the awkward silence.

"I'll cook something," says Sophia, going immediately into the kitchen, with the hems of Bond's sweatpants dragging across the floor as she walks. Her father follows. He has nothing else to do, and he hates waiting.

"Do you like chicken and rice?" asks the girl, leaning over and taking something out of the huge refrigerator.

"Yeah," says Bond. He almost laughs aloud when he realizes that, judging by her familiarity, his daughter has already been through his entire kitchen.

"You haven't asked, but Q is working on more leads," he says after a few minutes, fascinated as he watches the methodical way Sophia chops onions. "Your sister is safe for the moment," he continues. "If they don't have her, they have nothing to work with. Q Division retconned her history, so the Internet now contains rock-solid evidence that she's my daughter."

"Thanks," says Sophia.

"For what?" he asks.

"For trying." She places a pan of chicken into his Aga oven and closes the door.

"What do you do?" asks Bond, realizing that he hasn't even thought about it until that moment.

"Huh?" Sophia asks, wiping the counter with a blue sponge.

"Do you have a job?"

"Probably not after today," his daughter answers. "I get the phones at Mason and Mason Attorneys."

"That seems a little bit below your qualifications," he says, holding the bin open so she can throw away a paper towel.

"How do you know?" she asks, looking over at him sharply.

"Q," he answers. "He told me you took a first in classics."

"Oh, yes," she says breezily, "and now I'm paying my loans back for that first I'll never be able to use." She ends on a slightly bitter note.

"You could always join MI6," says Bond facetiously, remembering his own days at Oxford and the plain-looking man who gave him a job proposal that changed his life forever.

Sophia laughs. It's the first time he's heard the sound, and he likes it.


	8. Cerberus

**Cerberus**

_In Greek mythology, Cerberus is the three-headed beast who guards the Underworld._

Peg is sitting on the Small Man's shoes. She has a large, red pillow, but she prefers to lie on her master's trainers, for they smell of him. The humans who come to the flat, not very many, call the Small Man Q, but that seems like a very silly name. Just a letter of the alphabet, and it doesn't describe him at all.

Peg's full name is Peg Sliders-kew. That is also a very silly name, but it is ironic because it is a very large name, and she is an exceedingly tiny cat. The day the Small Man first gave it to her, he explained that it comes from a book called _Nicholas Nickelby_, which is his favorite.

Usually, when the Small Man comes home from work, he gives her a tiny bowl of organic milk and sits down beside her while she laps it up. Resting his back against the cold stove door, he tells her about his day. Other people speak to cats as if they are human babies, which Peg finds degrading to her feline dignity. The Small Man, however, talks to her as if she is his equal.

This particular night, Peg is filled to the brim with annoyance. To begin with, the Small Man was two hours late getting home. When he did arrive, he didn't so much as look her way and instead went straight to his bedroom, where he changed into his striped blue pajamas. Upon emerging, he did not seem to notice that she was expectantly perched atop the back of the living room sofa. He simply brewed a pot of tea and sat down with his computer covering his lap. The sheer effrontery!

Peg punishes him for an hour, draping herself over his shoes and refusing to look at him while he clicks buttons on his laptop. Still, he does not notice or apologize.

Finally, she deigns to stride over to the sofa once again and climb his leg, pushing her head between his arm and his side, meowing insistently. This earns her an absent scratch behind the ears that only lasts a few seconds before the Small Man is once again lost in the world of images on his screen.

Dejected, Peg settles for resting her head on the tiny sliver of the Small Man's knee that is not covered up by his laptop. When he finally does pay attention to her, she thinks, she will refuse to be held and perhaps scratch him to show her displeasure.

"Peg, what have I missed?" asks the Small Man after two long hours. The tone of his voice is sad, and his shoulders slump. "I just want to find the girl. What am I doing wrong?" He sets his laptop aside and takes Peg into his arms.

Peg Sliders-kew does not turn away from the Small Man, and she does not scratch him. Instead, she tucks her head into the space between his neck and shoulder and purrs comfortingly as he strokes her shiny black fur. After a few minutes, she feels the Small Man's body tense, and he takes her in his hands and holds her in front of him, looking her in the eyes. "I have it, you clever girl!" he says.

When the Small Man takes out his mobile phone, Peg perches on his right shoulder and listens. "Bond," he says, "I know where they've taken her."

He gets up from the sofa while he talks, and Peg follows him into the kitchen, where he opens his miniature refrigerator and gets out the bottle of Beaton's 100% Organic Milk. He pours a very small amount into a very tiny bowl and sits down next to it on the floor. Peg laps up the glorious liquid with her pink tongue while the Small Man leans against the oven and recites an address into his telephone.


	9. Gods and Titans

**Gods and Titans**

_In Greek mythology, the Olympian gods were enemies of the Titans, another immortal and very powerful race. _

After dinner, Bond automatically puts the dishes in the dishwasher, the result of some latent memory of his mother saying that if somebody cooks, somebody else does the washing up. Of course, someone he remembers as being called Morag, a rotund, loud woman, did almost all of that kind of thing when he was a child in Scotland.

He feels like he's strayed into a surreally domestic dream as he slides a thick, white plate into a dishwasher slot while his daughter covers leftovers with tinfoil and puts them into the refrigerator. He wonders if she's always so quiet or if a greater level of comfort brings out a gregarious side the way it does with some people.

"I brought you something," he says, when they're finally finished and back on the sofa. He picks up his black briefcase and takes out a small laptop. "I borrowed this from Q so you wouldn't die of boredom."

"Thanks," she says, lifting the silver top and booting up the computer.

Bond turns on the TV and flips channels absently while Sophia clicks through to the Internet. "What's with this?" she asks after a while. "Everything's blocked!"

"Sorry," he says. "Q filtered anything he thought might be dangerous."

"Oh," she answers, not sounding too upset. "It doesn't matter."

Truth be told, Bond is champing at the bit. He doesn't say anything, but he can't understand what's taking the Quartermaster such a long time. The man has a well-deserved reputation of near-infallibility, and it's not like Fullbright wants to remain in hiding forever. He would help with the tracking himself, but he knows there's nothing he can do that Q Division hasn't already tried.

It's all the fool Carlisle. He's a genius—or, he would be a genius if he didn't always waste his brilliant ideas on stupid games like the one he's playing now. Bond is beginning to get annoyed, and that's never a good sign for anyone, especially his targets. He knows his daughter's mind is filled with her sister, so he doesn't let himself dwell there. The point is that a life is in danger, and he needs to be poised to change that as soon as possible.

"I'm tired," Sophia finally mumbles late in the evening.

"Go to bed," says Bond simply. The strangeness isn't lost on him; it's bizarre enough to be putting his own child to bed for the very first time; the fact that she's a fully-grown adult is even harder for his mind to accept.

The girl gets up without a word and closes the laptop, leaving it on the couch when she goes to the guest bedroom. Bond wonders if he should check on her, but he hears the door close after a few minutes, and he respects her privacy.

Well, he respects it enough not to barge into her room, but he can't resist opening the silver laptop to see if she's left anything open. What he finds is a webpage written in squiggly letters he doesn't recognize. Curious, he pastes the first couple of paragraphs into a translation program. It's Homer's _Odyssey_; she's reading it in the original language. Bond smiles to himself. He's proud of his daughter; it's a feeling he's never experienced before.

007 has had time to watch Rocky II and III and remember why they're not as good as the first one by the time his mobile lights up. "Q?" he says.

"Bond, I know where they've taken her," are the first words out of the mouth of the Quartermaster.

"Tell me," he answers.

Q recites an address in Edinburgh.

"Scotland? Are you sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes," says Q. "I'd almost given up when I want back and replayed the phone message and noticed the clicks in the background. They sounded random, but they were actually Morse Code."

"Retro," says Bond drily. "I'll leave right away, but someone needs to look after my daughter."

"No, I don't think that's wise," says Q. "I've done the best I can, but even I can't predict everything. I'm sure Fullbright is watching us, and I'm afraid they'll put two and two together any minute."

"What are you saying?" asks Bond, putting the phone on speaker while he throws things into an overnight bag.

"I think—you should take her with you," says Q.

"What?" Bond whisper-yells, not wanting to wake Sophia. "That's completely out of the question."

"I'm sorry," says Q, going into defensive mode. "It's just that the closer she stays to MI6, the more likely we are to be discovered, I'm afraid."

"There's only one of me," says Bond. "I can't watch her and rescue her sister at the same time."

"She's not an infant," says Q. "Right now, they don't even know about her. She's not a target on her own."

"Fine," Bond growls, shoving a gun into his waistband. "If it goes south, you're responsible."

"It won't," says Q. Bond wishes he could be equally confident.

* * *

"Wake up, Kid" seems a little out of place on the banks of the River Styx, but the voice is familiar. Sophia opens one eye, and the river recedes while the speaking continues. "We have to go right now."

"Huh?" The girl sits up abruptly, her full attention on her father, who is now dressed in jeans, a burgundy jumper, and a dark grey jacket. He has a black drawstring bag over his shoulder.

"Q knows where your sister is," he says simply.

"Where?" Sophia asks, rubbing her eyes.

"Time for that later," says her father. "Get up and let's go." She has nothing to pack. The only possessions she has in his flat are her clothes of the day before, and she's still wearing his sweatshirt and sweatpants.

"Do you want me to wear this?" she asks, giving him a strange look.

"No, you'll have to change back into your other things," he says. "Hurry." He leaves the room.

As quickly as she can in her still-drowsy state, Sophia slips back into her jumper and trousers. She yawns as she comes out of the room, and Bond smiles at her. "Sorry to wake you so—abruptly. We're going to Scotland."

"I've never been there!" she says, forgetting the seriousness of the situation in her momentary excitement.

"It has a lot of trees," Bond intones, turning off the light and leading the way out the door.


	10. Leaving Olympus

**Leaving Olympus**

_Though at home on Mount Olympus, the Greek gods and goddesses often traveled to earth to intervene in the lives of humans. _

Sophia follows her father out of the building, and her senses perk up when she feels the chilly night air. She wraps her arms around her for warmth, but in a moment she smells the light scent of cologne and feels thick wool encircle her shoulders. Bond's jacket is too big for her, but she wraps it around herself gratefully.

To her surprise, a car is waiting for them at the curb. She and Bond both get in the back seat, but there's a third passenger. The Quartermaster smiles brightly as if it's 9 a.m. "Good morning," he says.

"Morning," says Bond, "or whatever it is."

"Hi," says Sophia, not wanting to be impolite, but still trying to wrap her head around what's going on.

"You'll be taking a train. An airplane would be overly conspicuous and probably what they'll expect; same with your car. I have fake passports for both of you. You'll be able to blend in," the Quartermaster continues.

Sophia takes the passport Q holds out to her and looks inside. To her surprise, she finds her most recent university ID photo, with the name "Louise Brant" next to it. She turns the object over, but she can't find anything that looks suspicious about it.

"I'll leave the use of covers to your discretion, Bond. I'm simply trying to cover all possibilities. Here's the rest of your equipment." Sophia watches while the smaller man gives her father a silver box that contains a gun, a knife, a radio, and two grenades. She's never seen a collection like it.

"The gun is the usual, and the other things are there in case you find yourself needing to get creative," Q finishes, patting the top of the box as if he's sending his child away to school for the first time. Bond only nods, as if he's used to it.

London traffic isn't quite as bad in the middle of the night as it is during the day, and the car reaches the train station within a few minutes. "Good luck," says Q, as the silent driver pulls up to let the travelers out.

Sophia scrapes up enough courage to say "Thanks for everything" to the Quartermaster as she gets out of the car, and she thinks she hears him say something—perhaps "my pleasure"—as she walks away.

* * *

Bond has been on many early-morning trains with many different women, but none of them has ever belonged to him the way Sophia does. It's a strange feeling and not a particularly sentimental one. It's just a fact. Now that he knows who she is, there's no going back. Thankfully, the girl is as taciturn as he is, and she simply stares out the window as the early morning sun begins to rise.

"If you're tired, you can use my shoulder," says Bond after a while, noticing that her eyes are beginning to droop, no doubt a result of her aborted night's sleep. He wishes Q hadn't thought First Class would be too conspicuous, since it's far more comfortable.

Sophia pulls his jacket tighter around her and looks at him for a long moment, as if she's weighing his offer. Finally, she moves a little closer and leans on him. It doesn't take long for her to fall asleep, and when her breathing is measured and regular, Bond finds himself thinking about the last woman who leaned on him.

The irony of the fact that he's going back to Scotland isn't lost on him, and he doubts it's lost on Carlisle, either. No doubt he's being led there on purpose; all the better to pour salt on his recent wound.

But the girl is far from an old woman losing lifeblood in his arms. She's young and alive and brilliant, a reminder of the young man he was when he first joined MI6. His life was taken from him—he doesn't regret it. But that will not happen to her. He realizes with surprise at himself that he's already decided. Whatever happens, Sophia will have a chance.


	11. Ithaca

**Ithaca**

_In the _Odyssey, _the gods visit Odysseus and his family in his home at Ithaca, sometimes disguised as human beings._

Sophia awakens when the light outside gets bright enough to signal true daytime. She smoothes her dark blonde hair and rubs her uncomfortable neck, which is tense because Bond's shoulder is stiff as a board. Better than nothing, though. He looks over at her, and she smiles. "Thanks," she says simply.

"No problem," her father answers, and silence descends again until a man comes through to check tickets. He grins at both Bonds.

"Nice to see families doing things together," he says. Sophia detects an imperceptible movement by her father, and she reasons that he's put himself in position to defend them if the man's comment means anything more sinister than it seems to indicate. Apparently it doesn't, and he moves on to the rest of the train.

"We'll be in Edinburgh in half an hour," Bond says after a while.

"I've always wanted to go there," Sophia answers. "Not like this, of course."

"Why Scotland?" he asks, sounding a little incredulous at her enthusiasm.

"So much literature and history. I love reading about it." Bond laughs softly at her enthusiasm, and Sophia turns to look at him again, wondering if he's mocking her.

"I forgot you didn't know," he says. "You're Scottish."

"What?" Sophia grips her armrest, feeling jumbled.

"I mean, I'm Scottish," her father continues, "so you're half Scottish. I don't know what your mother was. Just English, I guess."

"Where did you grow up?" Sophia asks curiously, but she instantly sees something close off in her father's eyes.

"We're not going to have _share about your childhood _time, unless you'd like to go first" he says flatly. Sophia isn't really surprised. He's obviously not the kind of person who loves to talk about himself. At the same time, she starts to feel a quiet determination to find out about her father's life in Scotland one way or the other. He hasn't encountered it yet, but there's a reason all her teachers in primary school used to write _stubborn _on her reports.

* * *

Bond is relieved when the train reaches Waverley Station in Edinburgh. Thugs and torture he can deal with—personal questions, not so much. He calls Q as soon as he and Sophia get off the train, putting in his earpiece so that he can have one hand free and hold his daughter's with the other. She gives him a weird look.

"Just humor me," he says tersely. "Fullbright could have people anywhere, and I don't want even the ghost of a chance of us getting separated."

"Romantic," says Sophia, her tone matching his usual sarcastic edge. She shakes her head, but she doesn't pull away.

"007, you've arrived," says Q, sounding as if he's in some kind of Zen-like state of calm.

"Obviously," Bond answers.

"The taxi rank is beside Platform 11," the Quartermaster instructs. "I've been watching security footage from the station for several hours, and I haven't detected signs of suspicious activity."

"Good," says Bond. Nevertheless, his eyes scan every inch of the building as he leads his daughter toward Platform 11. Privately, he regrets the time it will take to deposit Sophia at a hotel before he can proceed, but he understands the necessity. "Where's our accommodation?" he asks.

"The Aonach Mor Guesthouse," Q answers. "The owner's wife is a government scientist. They've accommodated MI6 lots of times. They know to expect you."

To Bond's relief, the taxi line is short, and he hails one quickly, though he keeps his hand on the gun hidden under his waistband in case the taxi driver proves to be more than a coincidence. Sophia gets in next to him, and he's suddenly struck with the absurdity of the situation—James Bond in the back of a minuscule Scottish taxi with his adult daughter. Her eyes are on the road outside, and she doesn't look at him.

"Once Sophia's taken care of, go to the address I'm sending to your phone," says Q. "It's another hotel, a bigger one. They have a peacock."

"Delightful," says Bond. "Do you want me to bring it home for you?"

"I just want you to be prepared for the circumstances," The Quartermaster answers, a trifle testily. "According to the embedded message, Fullbright is holding the girl somewhere on the premises."

"Specific," Bond snorts.

"It's not a large hotel," Q retorts.

"Fine."

When the taxi arrives in front of a small house on an ordinary street, Bond is surprised. He leans forward and repeats the address to the taxi driver. "You're in the right place," Q says in his ear. "It's a bed and breakfast." Bond pays for the taxi and helps his daughter out onto the curb.

"I know you usually like things a little more glamorous," Q continues, sounding a little bit defensive.

"A little," Bond sniggers.

"This is far less conspicuous than the two of you rolling up at some five-star paradise." Bond concedes the point and leads the way into the vestibule of the Aonach Mor.

* * *

**A/N: Shoutout to the Aonach Mor, which is a wonderful place to stay if you're visiting Edinburgh. The hotel with the peacock is about a ten minute walk away. **


	12. Gods and Mortals

**Gods and Mortals**

_The Greek gods and goddesses had an interesting relationship with mortals. They often had relationships with them, even romantic ones, and though the gods were more powerful, humans were able to help them accomplish their purposes. _

Sophia looks around her excitedly. She's never been inside a bed and breakfast. This one has a wooden floor and antique furniture everywhere, not a sign of Ikea in sight. She likes it right away.

A short, good-looking man with dark hair and a ready smile comes out of a side room. "Good morning. Welcome to the Aonach Mor," he says in a soft Scottish accent.

"We're the Brants," says Bond, shaking the man's hand.

"Excellent," he answers. "I'm Stephen MacLeod. I have you two in Room 6." He leads Sophia and her father up two small flights of stairs, and Sophia realizes that the house has two floors of rooms, but they appear to only have three or four rooms each.

Their room is on the third floor. It's large and airy, with two wide windows that have white curtains, a large bed with a heavy wooden headboard, a smaller double bed, and a wardrobe. There's even a dresser with a vase of fake Scotch thistles to welcome them. MacLeod leaves with a promise to help with anything at the touch of the 0 on the telephone that sits on the nightstand.

Once he's gone, Bond shuts the door. Sophia has nothing to unpack, so she sits on a brocade chair by the window. Bond sets his bag down and joins her, bringing the one other chair in the room to face hers.

"After this conversation, I'm going to leave," he says. Sophia feels chilled by his words. "We're going to close the curtains and lock the door. I'm going to leave you a gun and a mobile phone. If anything suspicious happens at all, you're going to tap the phone's touchscreen three times. That will automatically call Q, and he'll help you."

"Won't he be talking to you?" she asks.

"No," says Bond. "He doesn't have eyes in the place I'm going, so he won't be able to do anything once I'm there. I'll call him if there's something specific he can do." He looks at Sophia and holds eye contact for a moment. "If anyone gets in here and starts bothering you, shoot them. I mean that. You have a right to defend yourself, and these people won't hesitate to hurt us if they can. This is the easiest gun in the world to fire. It's voice activated. You take the safety off by counting from 1-10 out loud. Then, you put your finger on the trigger and go. That's it."

Sophia feels freezing cold, even though the temperature is comfortable. Bond touches her knee lightly. "All of that is precautionary. Fullbright has no reason to know you're here, and I don't expect you to run into any trouble." Sophia tries to smile, but all she can think about is the black gun on the table.

Bond gets up and shuts the curtains, which are thick and opaque and close out the sunlight. Sophia turns on an antique gold lamp.

"Be good," says Bond. "Lock the door."

He leaves, and his daughter locks both the doorknob and the deadbolt high up on the doorframe. Nervous, she takes both chairs and positions them in front of the door like barricades. She doesn't want to be alone, she soon realizes.

The room phone rings a moment later, nearly giving her a heart attack. She wonders if she should answer it, but she looks and sees that the call is coming from the front desk, so she picks up. "Hello," says MacLeod's pleasant voice. "I forgot to tell you the television set is hidden in the wardrobe."

"Thanks," says Sophia. As soon as she hangs up, she opens the large wardrobe and notices that the doors roll back, revealing a very modern-looking flat screen TV with a remote control next to it. She lies down on the bigger of the beds and starts flipping channels, finally settling on a Downton Abbey rerun.

That's when it starts. Every time Sophia tries to relax, she hears something. A creak. A hiss. A gurgle of water in a pipe. She starts to wonder if there's someone outside the door. Maybe someone is watching her from across the street, able to see through the curtains. _You're being paranoid_ she tells herself, but she can't be sure.

After an hour, she's sweating and her heart is racing. She goes over to the table and picks up the small black mobile phone. Before she can stop herself, she taps it three times rapidly.

"Miss Bond?" says the Quartermaster instantly. Sophia suddenly feels exceedingly foolish. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Um—" she tries to think of what to say. "I'm fine." She knows that will sound ridiculous, but she wants to stop any chance of Q mustering MI6 into action for no reason.

"Good," he says. "Why did you call?" He doesn't sound annoyed the way she'd feared he might.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I just—I'm not used to this. I got a little bit spooked waiting here."

"I see," says the Quartermaster. "Would you like me to stay on the phone with you?"

"That would be great," says Sophia. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"It's all right," he says. "Your well-being is part of this mission. What shall we talk about?"

"First off," she says, "call me Sophia."

"You can call me Q," he says, "I like it." Sophia expected to feel incredibly awkward, but the man's tone puts her at ease. "We could ask each other questions," he continues. "How does that sound?"

"Ok," she answers. "What's your favorite colour?"

"Grey. Yours?"

"Blue." She thinks of his eyes as she says it, vibrant and clear behind his giant glasses.

"Favorite band?"

"The Who."

"Mine is the Beatles," he answers. "You can't mess with a classic. Did you go to university?"

"Yeah, a tiny school in Leeds. I had a scholarship and a loan. But you know that already."

Q coughs a little bit embarrassedly. "I did look up a few things for your father. I hope you don't mind."

"It's all right. I can't expect privacy when MI6 is involved," Sophia teases. "Where did you go to school?"

"Oxford," he answers. "I hated it."

"Posh," says Sophia.

"That's why I hated it," he answers. "I was posh all my life. I wanted to go somewhere real. But my family insisted. What did you major in?"

"Classics, but you know that."

"Yes, but I'd like to know why. All the classics majors I knew were insufferable and frumpy, neither of which describe you."

"Thanks," she answers, laughing softly. "I did it because it was the furthest thing from my life I could imagine. All the beautiful stories and old languages helped me forget about things I didn't want to think about." Sophia feels strangely liberated. Something about knowing the Quartermaster isn't even in the same country makes her feel like she can say things she usually wouldn't.

"Which story is your favorite?" Q asks curiously.

"The _Odyssey_," she answers.

"Why?"

"Because—all sorts of terrible things happen. There's a war, and Odysseus is separated from his family for years. People die, and Penelope is threatened by other men. But the point is, there's an end to the journey. It doesn't deny the horrible things, but in the end, Odysseus and his family are together and safe. It's a good ending with a high price, like real life. At least, I hope so." Sophia laughs nervously, a little bit ashamed of herself for saying so much. "Do you have a favorite story?"

"Yes," he answers. "It's called _Flowers for Algernon._ It's about a man who undergoes surgery to get smarter, only to regress back to being mentally handicapped."

"That sounds—cheerful."

"It's a reminder that technology can't fix everything," answers the Quartermaster. "Some things really are just about people. That's an important thing to remember in my line of work." Sophia doesn't answer for a few seconds because she realizes that her heart rate has calmed down, and she's not scared any more.


	13. Thwarted Divinity

**Thwarted Divinity**

_The Greek gods were not individually all powerful, and sometimes things did not go their way, at least at first. _

Edinburgh is strangely familiar to the eyes of James Bond. He hasn't walked its streets in a long time, but his memories are fixed because they are the memories of childhood. He remembers visiting his Gran there—a tall, spare woman with a face that seemed severe until she laughed, except that she never stopped laughing. She'd lived in a small house somewhere (he can't remember the street name) that was just like every other small house in the city: tall, thin, and pointed—a bit like his Gran herself. His parents had tried to get her to move to the country, but she never would. She liked the pace of the city, she said, and that was the end of it. He hasn't thought of her in ages.

His trained eyes scan the streets around him for any sign of something out of place, but he only sees a few hairy highland cows in a field and passes a group of teenagers smoking cigarettes and a drunk man singing a selection of Proclaimers songs off key.

Before he turns on to the street that he knows will take him to his destination, Bond stops and looks toward the crags outside the city, stern and weather-beaten by the years, but solid and reliable. A bit like 007, he thinks.

_Q wasn't kidding about the peacock _is his first thought as he steps onto the grounds of the Thistle Inn and sees a male of the species roaming around as if he owns the place. Bond wonders if peacocks are aggressive if alarmed. It's not something he's ever had occasion to find out. He goes toward the hotel's single building, a large, old-fashioned, wood-framed mansion that looks as if it caters to wealthy tourists. A sign on the door proclaims the serving of tea and a large brunch, so he enters and asks a young girl with purple, spiky hair for a table.

Bond follows her into a side room, where a couple, obviously American, are eating and speaking loudly in the flat accents that characterize the western United States. His own table is by the window, and he's presented with a menu. He makes a pretense of scanning the choices but instead looks all around him to understand the structure of the building. It has two floors and no more than twenty rooms, he thinks, and unlike the more modest Aonach Mor, some of those will be large, opulent suites.

The girl returns, and Bond orders tea and a scone. "Very British choice," says the male half of the American couple, coming over and sitting down at the table while his companion leaves the room.

"Can I help you?" asks Bond.

"I can help you, I think," says the man, smiling and revealing his unusually white teeth. "Yesterday, a guy gave my wife and I fifty bucks—or pounds, whatever you call them—to watch for a guy that looks like you and tell you you're too late again. I hope you're the right guy."

"I'm the right guy," says Bond, clenching his jaw and trying to keep his irritation out of his voice. "Is that the whole message?"

"He said to tell your little nerd friend to keep looking. Sorry for the wording, Dude. I didn't come up with it."

"No problem," says Bond, trying not to automatically think of 63 ways to kill the American. "I hope you enjoy your fifty pounds." He gets up and leaves a five-pound note on the table before striding out of the hotel.

* * *

Q is sitting in his private office, a place he rarely works, but this is a special assignment. "My favorite is when the Black Knight says 'It's only a flesh wound,' he says, giggling.

"Yeah, but nothing beats the guy going, 'She turned me into a newt...I got better,'" answers Bond's daughter, laughing her breathy, quiet laugh. "Is that your favorite comedy?" she asks.

"No, there's an American movie called _What's Up, Doc? _Have you seen it?"

"I don't think so," she answers. The Quartermaster is just about to ask if she'd like to see it with him some time when his screen flashes to interrupt his call.

"I'm so sorry," he says quickly, "your father's calling me. I'll call you back as soon as I can."

"All right," she says, sounding anxious. Q clicks over to Bond.

"Q."

"007. How have you fared?"

"No go. Fullbright left a sweet message for my 'little nerd friend' to 'keep looking.' They were here, or at least, someone from the organization was here. Not any more."

The Quartermaster suddenly thinks that it would be delightful to smash his phone into a thousand pieces, but reason prevails. "I've been talking to your daughter," he says. "Nothing wrong, but whatever you told her when you left scared her to death."

"Better scared than dead," says Bond tersely, and Q can tell that he's not the only frustrated one.

"I'll keep looking."

"Fine," and Bond hangs up in his ear.

Q doesn't want to call Sophia back. He knows it will mean questions that he'll have to answer and further disappointment for her, when all he wants is to tell her it's all solved and that he's the one who solved it.

Still, he's no coward. He hits his touchscreen and waits for her to pick up.

"Q?" Her voice is eager.

"Hello, Sophia, I'm afraid I have bad news."

"Is—my sister hurt?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that when your father got there, the kidnappers were already gone. I didn't get him there in time."

"It's not your fault!" she says indignantly, but then she goes silent for a minute, and all he hears is heavy breathing followed by the unmistakable sound of tears.

"I'm—so sorry," he says, wondering what he should do. It will be a few minutes, at least, before Bond gets back, and he doesn't feel right about hanging up the phone on a distraught girl. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asks lamely.

"Kara was born when I was seven," she says through sobs. "Mum didn't think she was pregnant because she was so careful by then, and when she found out, it was too late. She was so mad. She used to leave Kara home alone with me, even when she was a baby. It was like she was my kid. She moved out with me when I graduated. It just made sense, and Mum didn't care anyway."

"I should've been there. If I'd gone home a little bit earlier, I could have stopped it."

"No," says Q, "if you'd gone home earlier, Fullbright would have realized their mistake and taken you instead. Your sister would have been disposable to them."

Neither Q nor the girl speak for a few moments, but he can hear her sobs growing less frequent and finally stopping altogether. "I'm sorry about this," she says after a while, sounding more like herself.

"Nothing to be sorry about," answers the Quartermaster.

"I think Bond is here," Sophia says.

"Good. I'll keep working."

"Ok," the girl answers, "and Q?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

A smile can't be heard through a phone receiver, but there's one plastered on the Quartermaster's face.


	14. Vulnerability of the Gods

**Vulnerability of the Gods**

_Perhaps the most fascinating thing about the way the Greeks viewed their gods was their overarching humanity, gods made in the image of man. The Greek deities were full of the same flaws, weaknesses, and frailties as their human counterparts, even though they had greater power. _

"It's me," Sophia hears, muffled outside the door, and she quickly scrambles to pull the barricading chairs away while her father unlocks the door of their room. When he comes inside, she sees that he has newspaper parcels under his arm and two fizzy drinks in his hand. "I brought fish and chips," he says shortly.

"I'm not hungry," answers Sophia, whose tears have barely dried. She's sure her face is still streaked with the obvious signs of crying, and she's a little bit embarrassed.

"Don't be like that. We both need to eat," says Bond, holding one of the parcels out to her. She half rolls her eyes as she takes it and starts to unwrap the traditional newsprint. She has to admit, the food looks good, and worrying and crying have taken it out of her. She nibbles on a chip tentatively and then with more enthusiasm as the golden taste fills her mouth.

Her father sits opposite her and makes short work of his meal, starting with the fish and going on to the chips. She gets distracted watching him because he has such an incredibly posh way of eating. She wouldn't know how to describe it to someone, but it's like he's eating at a five-star restaurant even when he's munching fried fish off a newspaper.

"What?" he finally asks.

"Nothing," she says quickly. "Just—you're not what I ever expected."

"What did you expect?" he asks.

"Somebody from Mum's world," Sophia answers. "You know, a pimp or one of her regular clients. I never believed what she said about you. I thought it was Mr. Reed for a long time, but I guess he was just being nice. He was one of her regulars—eighteen years, until he died of a heart attack. He used to give me birthday presents."

"Well," says Bond, "you can call this your birthday if you want. We're going shopping."

"Huh?"

"MI6 is going to get you something to wear," he answers. "We might as well occupy ourselves while Q does his job."

"Oh."

* * *

James Bond almost laughs at the look of surprise on his daughter's face. It's been a long time since he's shopped for a woman. He used to be good at it, able to size them up instantly in every way. He wonders if he still has the touch. At any rate, given that the girl in front of him actually chose to wear something as drab as a grey jumper with black pants and shoes, he knows he's not exactly dealing with someone who tends toward flamboyance.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"Taxi to Princes Street," he says. "Lots of shops there."

As they stand to leave the room, Bond grumbles, "If I'd have known we were going to be here a while, I'd have rented a car."

"I bet you're hard on rental cars," Sophia muses, and he looks over at her quickly enough to see the small smile on her face, though it doesn't banish the worry that never leaves her eyes.

Before he opens the door, Bond takes the black, voice-controlled gun off the table and puts it back in its case, noticing as he does that his daughter's eyes are riveted on the process. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, the words coming out a little more clipped than he intended. "This is an awkward situation for both of us. It's not ideal for me to leave you on your own, but if I have to, I need to know you have some way of protecting yourself."

"I get it," says Sophia, "but I'm not sure I could actually shoot anyone."

"Nobody knows what they'll do until they're threatened," says Bond, turning off the lamp and putting the room key in his pocket.

"Mum—kept us out of things," Sophia says softly. "That was one thing she did. We lived in a lot of bad places, but she protected us from the worst of it."

"Good," is all Bond answers as he leads the way into the hall.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for all the kind reviews. I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to all of you personally. I've had the flu most of the week. I'll hopefully have a longer chapter in the next couple of days. **


	15. The Color Grey

**The Color Grey**

_The grey eyes of the goddess Athena are one of the most frequently recurring concepts in the entire _Odyssey.

Q is the only one left in his department. It's several hours past dark; he doesn't know how long. Some of his inferiors stayed on for a while, mostly to try to impress their new leader, but they gradually dropped off one by one and went home.

He hasn't gone home because he's afraid that if he does, he'll lose something, some crucial piece of information flashing in front of him on one of the ten screens he has open. He's surrounded by computers. Electronic brains. But he feels alone in his own mind.

If he had any doubt before, he now knows for sure that Carlisle has as much of a quarrel with him as with 007. He's not angry; there's no sense in being angry with a psychopath.

It's no good not to care at all, but it's just as bad to care too much. Usually, he's somewhere in the middle, with a pleasant sense that he's aiding Queen and country and a comfortable emotional detachment that lets him go home at night and sleep soundly with his cat at his feet.

This is different, and he doesn't like it. Part of it is Bond, and part of it is the girl. Just as he sees no point in being angry at a madman, he sees no point in denying the obvious. He likes the older agent, with his street smarts and his stubble and his pride. They're opposites, like yin and yang, but they work together well. Maybe they're even friends.

It's different with the girl. He doesn't know her yet. All he has are two phone conversations and what he can find on a computer. Grades, transcripts, a few class papers he hacked off her university's website. She's intelligent. He likes intelligent.

He also likes the color grey. Her color.

It's rubbish to care so much, but he can't help it. Over and over and over he covers the same ground, but he forces his mind into new directions, wrenching his thoughts from familiar pathways to the more lateral connections he rarely has to make.

_You're the best hacker in the world, Q _he tells himself encouragingly. This time, he's determined. He doesn't intend to catch up with Fullbright; he's going to get ahead.

* * *

Sophia lies awake in the Aonach Mor, her back turned to her father's. She can hear his heavy breathing, and she's glad he's resting. She wonders if a good night's sleep will banish the ever-present look of tiredness from around his craggy eyes.

To the right of her bed is a Louis Vuitton bag full of clothes. Sophia resists the urge to creep out of bed and touch them. They're so beautiful—she's never seen anything like the dresses and skirts and button-down shirts her father bought for her.

She'd expected him to pick things she wouldn't like—glamorous, ostentatious things that would overwhelm her small, pale face and make her look like she was dressed up as someone else. She now knows she underestimated him. The man who is asleep across the room from her understands a lot better than that. That's the difficult part.

It's difficult because she thought she'd sized him up, thought she understood the man with the flashy car and flashy job who visited prostitutes and breathed violence. But there's more. She saw it in his eyes in Jenner's when she came out wearing the mint green dress. She saw it in the smile that reassured her when she nearly passed out at the size of the bill at H&M and felt it in the hand he rested on her shoulder when they crossed the street.

Sophia had assumed her father was a lake that rippled in ever-widening circles without anything beneath; however, something about his kindness, his attention to every detail, the way he looked at her when she caught his face in the mirror without him knowing—those things hinted at depths she hadn't even considered he might have.

She has no idea what to say to him, no possible clue how to express what she thinks or how she feels. Instead, she decides, she will get up in the morning and wear something new. Maybe that will show him what she wants to say. After all, he seems to get it.


	16. King of the Gods

**King of the Gods**

_In Greek mythology, Zeus doesn't always get involved in situations, but when he does, he doesn't hesitate to act._

_Paris._

Bond jerks awake and grabs his phone, hastily punching the code that will reach the Quartermaster in a fraction of a second.

"007?" The younger man hasn't been asleep. That's obvious in an instant.

"I think Fullbright's gone back to Paris."

"Why?"

"It's—I just had a dream about the night Williams died. I think Carlisle is leading me there so he can rub my nose in it while he finishes the job."

"I did think of the possibility," says Q, "but there's no evidence whatsoever."

"Call it intuition, then," Bond answers. "Maybe the lack of evidence is some kind of clue. Carlisle knows how my mind works."

"I don't approve of guessing," the Quartermaster rejoins.

"And I don't approve of sitting here doing nothing." 007 watches as his daughter gets out of the other bed and turns on the lamp, rubbing her half-open eyes.

"I don't have anything else," Q finally admits, his voice reluctant. "I'll start researching with Paris as an assumption. At least I can narrow down the possibilities."

"Find us a safehouse. We'll leave tonight." Bond watches as a map and address materialize on the display of his phone within seconds.

"All right," says the Quartermaster, a little breathless. "That's a Bed and Breakfast owned by a former MI6 agent. He'll know you by sight. I'm booking tickets for you on the redeye flight into Beauvais Airport. It's small, so you'll be less likely to attract attention. I'll order a car to pick you up in fifteen minutes."

* * *

Sophia hears her father's end of the conversation and hurriedly goes into the bathroom to change into slacks and a green shirt with a grey cardigan over it. She's thankful that the LV bag and its contents are the only things she has to take with her, since she can tell by Bond's urgency that they'll be leaving immediately.

Her father finally hangs up, and he looks over approvingly. "Did you get that?"

"Yeah," she says tersely, "Paris."

"I have—history—there with the men we're looking for. Q 's good at his job, but sometimes practical experience is the important thing."

Sophia wonders if she trusts him. There's something mesmerizing about Bond, as if, no matter how much she tries to remind herself that she knows next to nothing about him, she can't help believing whatever he says.

She can see in the cracks in the skin around his eyes and the strength in his hands and the easy way he handles a weapon that he's lived hard and seen terrible things, but there's the warmth, too. There's the peace that tries to steal over her when she's around him as if, for the first time in her life, she might be able to let go and let someone else handle the big things for a change. Still, he's Bond, and he's a spy, and he's the father she never knew. She doesn't let herself feel that peace.

"Ready?" His voice cuts into Sophia's thoughts.

"Sure," she answers, following him out of the room with her bag over her arm. She looks back one last time as her father closes the door, remembering the gun and her fear and the voice of the Quartermaster. Sophia doesn't usually take mental pictures of things. Her life doesn't have enough important moments for that. But she takes one now.

No one is downstairs, not even the Aonach Mor's gregarious owner. Sophia and her father step outside into a chilly night breeze, and a small blue car pulls up alongside them.

"Hello, Bond," says a female voice as Sophia climbs into the back seat. She knows that voice. The mirror reveals that the driver is Eve Moneypenny.

"Moneypenny. Excellent. Should we start off with an accident or have one later on?" Bond's voice is playful.

"Hi, Sophia," she says, not acknowledging the comment. Sophia smiles at the effort to ignore her father in the most obvious way possible.

"I was in the area," Moneypenny continues, "and Q's massively paranoid. He didn't want to send anyone with a lower security clearance."

"Are you staying with us?" Sophia asks, a little hopeful.

"Afraid not," says the other woman. "M would be _lost_ without me. I'm flying home tonight."

"Merciful," Bond jabs, but Sophia can see that he's smiling.

* * *

Edinburgh's secondary airport is just as ridiculous as Bond remembers, a building that looks like a small factory warehouse instead of a terminal. He can't fault the logic, though. The area is so small that he can pretty much keep surveillance on the whole thing at once.

He gives Eve a kiss on the cheek as he gets out of the tiny car. He doesn't have a thing for her. Not really. She's like a little sister—a little sister who almost killed him with a slug to the chest. But anyway.

He looks back as his daughter walks around the car to join him, and when she comes into view, he grins. She looks stylish now, and the green shirt sets off her eyes. He's—what's the feeling?—he's proud, that's it. He's proud because she belongs to him.

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. I was very under the weather most of the month of December, but I had a great Christmas anyway. I hope you all did as well. Thanks for reading. **


	17. Gods in Crisis

**Gods in Crisis**

_The Olympian gods were powerful, but they could be hurt._

The plane is a small one, and Sophia is uncomfortable. She knows it's irrational, but she feels like smaller jets have a greater chance of falling out of the sky. It's just one of those things—a phobia. She holds tightly to her armrest.

Her father is beside her, looking out the window. He doesn't turn his head, but suddenly she feels a hand rest on top of hers. She closes her eyes and focuses on the warmth of his fingers and tries to ignore the all-too-immediate vibration of the engine.

Once in the air, she pulls her hand away and smoothes her hair, feeling a little bit embarrassed. "I—don't like small planes," she says quickly.

"Obvious," says Bond, not unkindly. "I can't remember how I used to feel. It's all the same now. But I like trains the best."

"Why?" Sophia isn't silly enough to think he won't notice her obvious segue into a question, but she hopes he's relaxed enough to give her some kind of real answer.

"I met someone on a train once," he says, "a girl."

"I see," she says, not wanting to press her luck. He doesn't keep talking, but she's glad she got something.

The flight is a short one, and neither Sophia nor Bond says anything else. When it's time to land, she automatically puts her left hand on the armrest, and just as she expected, her father wraps his fingers around hers and doesn't let go until the engine shuts off.

* * *

Bond goes into surveillance mode as soon as he crawls out of his window seat. Sophia is pale, but he's confident she'll be fine as soon as she's walking around on solid ground. His main concern is to get her to the safe house. Until then, he can't relax his vigilance even the tiniest bit.

The problem, he soon learns, is that it's possible to be looking after someone else so intently that you forget to look after yourself. Later on, he will think of it as an ironic comment on parenthood, but as strong hands grab him and drag him into a small room inside the Beauvais Airport, all he can think about is the fact that his daughter didn't see what happened.

_Call Q_, he screams inside his mind, wishing telepathy were real.

* * *

For five minutes, Sophia is frozen. At first, she can't believe her father is actually gone. One moment, he was lightly guiding her through the middle of a crowded terminal; the next moment—she has no idea. She tries to piece together what she heard and saw, but it was too fast and too neat.

She sits on a bench and tries to collect her ragged thoughts. Anxiety threatens to crush her like a wave when she considers her situation: a woman alone in Paris with nothing except her clothes and her passport. Her French is elementary at best.

_Her clothes and her passport…and her phone._

She punches the emergency number. "Sophia?" The Quartermaster is reassuringly placid.

Sophia doesn't want to cry. She's good at not crying. It's ridiculous for her to make Q hear her sobs again. It won't help anything.

Nevertheless, she weeps when she hears the sound of his voice.


	18. The Quest

**The Quest**

_The heroes of Greek mythology often engaged in quests that seemed hopeless at their outset._

Q goes into his private office as quickly as he can. He takes off his glasses and nervously cleans them with the end of his white button-down shirt. His brain tells him there's something very, very wrong, but all he wants to do is reach through the phone and comfort the crying girl.

That's not like him. He's useless when it comes to things like emotions and—women. But she's Sophia, so it's not the same.

"My—my dad, somebody took him," she finally chokes out, and Q is relieved that she spoke first so he didn't have to.

"Are you at the airport?" His brain feeds him logical questions—questions simple enough that a distraught person will be able to answer them.

"Yes," she answers, "I'm in front of Gates A8-A26."

"Do you know where your father disappeared from?"

"Somewhere in C Terminal," she answers.

Q calls up a diagram of the airport. There are five outdoor exits in C Terminal; no doubt Bond is no longer in the building, given the time it would have taken his daughter to walk to her present location.

"All right," he says quickly, inserting authority into his voice. It's not something he's good at, but he feels like it's necessary. "If the people who took your father had planned to take you, they'd have already done it. I want you to stay on the phone with me and go get your bag. If anything seems off or wrong, you tell me immediately."

"Ok," says Sophia.

"I'm going to help you get to the safe house," the Quartermaster continues. "Don't worry, you're going to be fine."

"What about my father?"

"I've already alerted the department. All of our agents in Paris will be notified and on alert in minutes. Fullbright won't be able to take your father anywhere without risking detection. If he's seen by someone, that will make it easy. If not, I'll be able to massively narrow down our options. Don't worry."

"It's a little hard not to." Her voice is shaky, though she's no longer crying.

"I know. But your father has been in this situation many times. He knows how to handle himself."

Q hopes he's right.

* * *

Kara is sitting on a dirty mattress with her head on her knees. The two men haven't said anything to her all day. She's had half a bottle of water, three bites of bread, and an order of four chicken nuggets. It doesn't make any sense, but nothing makes any sense. Her head itches, and she can't remember when she last washed her hair.

At first, she thought they were going to kill her, but now it's like they have no interest in her at all. Sometimes the taller guy calls her ugly or makes fun of her freckles, but that's about it. She doesn't know what day it is or where she is. Everything just runs together.

"Just throw him in with the girl." She hears a voice, and somebody knocks on the door at the far side of the room. The shorter of the two men drags his large body up off his metal chair and unlocks the rusty bolt.

"Hey, Lewis," says the taller one, "what's going on?"

"We've got the big prize, finally," says a voice Kara doesn't recognize, and a tattooed man comes through the door, dragging a prisoner whose hands are tied.

"What's the matter with you, idiot?" asks Mr. Tattoos, suddenly looking over at Kara. "Don't you recognize your dear old dad?"

To the girl's confusion, the prisoner immediately starts mewling. "My little girl! What have they done to you? I've been looking everywhere!" His eyes fill with obvious tears.

"Boss wants to see you," says the man called Lewis, jerking his head at both captors. "The two of them can have a 'touching' reunion." He unties the prisoner with one hand, making sure to keep his gun to the man's temple with the other. To Kara's surprise, as soon as the prisoner is free, he runs over to her and throws his arms around her in a huge hug.

"Sell this," he whispers in her ear, so softly she can hardly tell he spoke. "Trust me."

"Papa!" she says, imitating a movie she saw once, wrapping her arms around his neck in a choking embrace. She has no idea who he is, but if he's a fellow victim of her kidnappers, that's enough for her. She snuggles into him, surprised at how much she enjoys warm human touch after so long without any.

"Bond," says Lewis after a moment, "I'm leaving, but the door will be bolted from the other side. Enjoy your daughter. Carlisle will call for you soon enough, and then it's all over for both of you."

The door closes with a loud clang, and Kara tries to pull back so she can look into the face of the man she now knows is her sister's father. But Bond holds her tightly a moment more.


	19. Demigods

**Demigods**

_Half god-half man, demigods had some god-like qualities but were also subject to human limitations._

"You look like Sophia," says the girl. She's small and black-haired and much prettier than her sister.

"You don't," he answers, not sharply.

"Nah," she says, "I look like mum. But you know that."

"Yeah," says Bond. "She was gorgeous."

It's a sideways compliment, and the girl knows it. She blushes pink.

"I'm Kara."

"I know," he says, "your sister sent me." Which is true, in a way.

"You're a spy," she says matter-of-factly. "I heard them talking about it lots of times. It's very exciting." She grins.

"You're not really much like your sister, are you?" It's a silly question, but his brain is in overdrive, studying the room, figuring out a plan. He wants to keep the girl engaged, to make her trust him so that when the time comes, she'll be willing to do whatever it takes.

"No," she agrees, "I like people."

"But you are brave like she is," Bond continues, standing up and pacing out the room to get its dimensions.

The girl shrugs. "I knew they weren't going to hurt me. They were too stuck on me being your kid. I wish I was your kid. My dad's name was William Reed. He was an undertaker, unfortunately."

"Hush," whispers Bond, making his way back to her quickly. "Don't say anything about that. I can't find any bugs in the room, but we can't take chances on them figuring it out." Kara nods, her eyes wide. He wishes he could call Sophia and reassure her that her sister is in one piece. The thought of the fear she must be feeling pierces him like a knife.

* * *

Sophia exits the taxi, gripping her phone like it's a life preserver, trying to keep the Quartermaster's face in her mind as if he's with her. Just as she did with the taxi driver, she hands the telephone to the woman at the small hotel's check-in desk. She hears one side of a rapid conversation in French, and suddenly the woman is all smiles. She leads her up a squeaky wooden staircase and down a hallway to a large room at the end.

As soon as she's alone with two beds and a beautiful view of the city, Sophia plugs in her phone and puts it to her ear. "I'm in the room."

"Good," says Q. "I have a plainclothes police detail outside the building. You won't see them, but they're there. I'm sorry to ask you to wait. I know that's the hardest part, but I can't risk having you on the street."

"I—you're," she stumbles. "I can't thank you enough."

"Please don't," Q answers. "My cat will get jealous."

Sophia laughs. In spite of everything, she feels a warm, pleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach. She takes her phone and looks at it for a minute so that she can see the picture of the serious young man with his giant glasses. He's a little like a cat himself.


	20. Courage

**Courage**

_Of all the virtues extolled through Greek mythological stories, courage is one of the most lauded and important. _

Q multitasks. It's not something he normally likes. He'd rather give all of his considerable mental energy to one thing at a time, but for once he doesn't mind. He keeps his earpiece in, talking and listening, all the while punching in numbers and looking at layouts of the city of Paris. He's surprised by how well he can think with a voice in his ear.

Not just any voice. But he doesn't think about that because then he really would be distracted.

"This place is really nice," she says, a little too quickly.

"Good," he answers. "Try to rest. If you want anything to eat, I'll have it sent up."

"You're—not going, are you?" She's trying to sound like she wouldn't mind, but he knows.

"Of course not," he says. "Your father would flay me alive if I left you alone right now."

She laughs. He's glad he can make her laugh. He's not usually very good at that. When he tries to make jokes, people tend to stare at him uncomprehendingly. He can't help that he finds Schrodinger hilarious.

Q has twenty-five constantly updating maps of Paris, designed to show different things. It's not until he gets to the twenty-third that he sees a pattern in the little dots on the screen. In an instant, he clicks into his messaging system and sends a text to a man named Piper, who works in a tiny corner shop on an insignificant corner of a Paris street.

He listens to the girl on the other end of the phone talk about her favorite bands, but he says nothing about the lightning-speed action he's now put into place. He can't bear to disappoint her if he's wrong again.

* * *

Kara watches her sister's father with the same wide-awake interest with which she watches every new person, analyzing his way of moving, his facial expressions, and his way of speaking—whenever he speaks, which isn't often.

She trusts him. Trust with her is an instantaneous, instinctive thing. It's always worried Sophia, her mother hen, that she will trust so quickly, but she's almost never wrong about people. She just knows.

In school, Kara once did a report on a book about nonverbal communication. Her favorite part was the study of identical twins separated at birth—the fact that they have mannerisms and ways of speaking in common.

That's how it is with the compact, quiet man and her sister. Sometimes when he has a certain expression or moves his hands in a particular way, it's like Sophia is in the room. Kara can't decide if it's comforting or if it just makes her miss her sister even more.

"Bond?" she says after a while.

"Yeah?" He looks over from his investigation of the wall at the far side of the room.

"Thank you for coming to get me, even though—" she stops, knowing he understands that she's alluding to the truth her captors can never know, the fact that she doesn't really belong to him.

"Welcome," he answers, and the girl wonders if she only imagines that he almost smiles.


	21. Preparation

**Preparation **

_Myths like _The Odyssey_ build suspense by having gods and mortals alike engage in intricate preparation for the explosive denouement to come. _

Bond sits down after a while, near to the girl, with his back against the wall. The whole scenario has played out in his mind a hundred times in a hundred different ways, but the point is always the same. Carlisle will torture him, then kill him, then kill the girl.

Unless Q.

He finds it supremely ironic that his fate now lies in the hands of a slight boy-man with unkempt hair. Of course, the whole of MI6 will be on alert, but the Quartermaster is the one who really matters now. With effort, he puts the thought out of his mind. He can't do Q's thinking for him, so there's little purpose to be served by conjecture.

The next thought that enters his mind is no less painful. It's the image of his daughter's plain face with its haunting eyes. He clings to the picture, wishing that he could see her one more time. If this is the end, he wishes—he's not a man to wish for what cannot be—but he wishes for one more day. One more time to tell her the things he hasn't been able to say. He realizes, perhaps for the first time, that some things are better than silence, more important than restraint, more precious than his dignity.

He jerks forward and opens his eyes. Something is tickling his hand.

"Don't freak out," says Kara, tracing the lines on his palm with her finger. "Look, see! We're going to be fine. You're going to live a long life. I just wanted to make sure we get out of here alive." She pushes his hand closed and sits back, smiling.

Bond throws his head back and laughs. She might not be his daughter, but she's got his courage.

* * *

Sophia knows something has changed. She can hear it in the Quartermaster's voice, even while he laughs with studied nonchalance and tries to seem as engaged in the conversation as she is. She grips the phone tightly, wanting to ask him what he's found, but she's too afraid that what he says will make her world come crashing down. She goes quiet, breathing heavily.

"Don't—don't worry," says the voice of the man at the other end.

_Don't worry? _She laughs, a laugh that is kissing cousin to hysteria.

"I mean it," he says, with more authority. "I'm going to bring your father and your sister home, and you're not going to panic."

"That's right," Sophia echoes, drawing strength from his assurance.

"Good," says Q, both to her and to his computer screen, where he sees dots and arrows that show him the location of each of the people now converging on a single point, people he has summoned with a few clicks of a button. He imagines this is how it must have felt to form a posse in the Old West of American legend.

He wouldn't have liked to be a cowboy.


	22. Denouement

**Dénouement**

_Classical myths build to a point of almost unbearably intense action, with gods and mortals colliding in moments of courage, loss, gain, and bravery._

Gunshots.

Kara shrieks in terror when the thick silence around the prison she shares with Bond is broken by report after report, followed by screams and crashes. In an instant, her sister's father pulls her close, quickly and roughly. It's a gesture of protection more than comfort, but it sooths her nonetheless. She closes her eyes and decides she's not going to die, not when she's held in Bond's ocean of calm.

She feels his heart under her cheek, and his pulse isn't even elevated. If possible, he seems more focused than before. Readier.

He lets her go when someone starts to break down the door of their locked room. She watches, slightly dazed, as he crouches behind the door, ready to spring up as soon as an enemy breaches their prison.

"007," a voice barks through the sound of splintering wood, "report your status."

Bond visibly relaxes. "Uncompromised," he says. "I have the child with me." Kara has enough presence of mind to huff at his use of the word "child."

He turns to her and smiles a genuine, relieved grin. "We're going home, kid."

* * *

"Quartermaster, we've breached the location and taken Carlisle into custody," says a female voice in Q's earpiece, and he pinches his arm to keep from tearing up.

"What about Bond and the girl?"

"Alive. Healthy."

The small man with the big glasses mutes both of his mobile phones, puts his head down on his desk, and cries.

* * *

Q is silent on the other end of the phone, and Sophia grips the receiver for dear life. At least the call hasn't dropped. She tries to keep hoping. Her mind plays worst-case scenarios over and over, and she can't escape them.

It's not just Kara any more. Sophia always worries about her sister, but now her fears for Bond—007—her father loom just as large. She has tried and failed to keep her distance.

It would be horribly ironic, she thinks, if her moment of clarity is his last on earth, if the moment she finally realizes how connected they are, how much it means to be his daughter, is the moment they're ripped apart forever.

Tears fill her eyes and spill over, and she doesn't wipe them away.

She doesn't know how long she cries, but she's finally shaken into alertness by the tramp of feet coming up the hotel stairs. She sits bolt upright and wipes her eyes.

"Someone's coming," she says into the phone, hoping desperately that Q can still hear her. "There's more than one. I can tell."

"It's all right, Sophia," he says, just as the door opens.

A bundle of arms and legs and hair pounces on top of the girl, and she cries and laughs and screams all at once. Or maybe it's her sister who's crying and laughing. She can't tell. All she knows is that Kara is wrapped around her, hugging and kissing her to death and talking a hundred miles an hour.

Sophia holds the younger girl until they both calm, then gently pries her sister's arms from around her neck and gets up. Her father is still standing by the door, silent, his face wet with his tears.

"You brought her back, just like you said you would," she says, standing in front of him.

"It's down to Q and a bunch of agents," he answers gruffly, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

His daughter lifts her hand to his face and touches his wet cheek. "Thank you for being ok." She wrap her arms around him and leans against his chest, but she doesn't truly relax until his arms close around her and he rests his head on top of hers.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you, too."


	23. The Spoils

**The Spoils**

_In Greek mythology, the hero of a fight never leaves empty-handed. Brave deeds are always justly rewarded. _

The Small Man is explaining things to Peg Sliders-kew. He hasn't sounded so excited in months, and she endures his endless cuddling with as much grace as she can muster. After all, she knows from years of experience that he will soon return to his usual state of calm composure, and she will be able to perch on his shoulder and regain her dignity. For the time being, she mews against his cheek and adds a chorus of purring to all of his talk of synthetic neural linking and satellite tracking.

"But why wasn't I faster?" he finally asks. After all the thrill of victory, he settles on a note of defeat. "Sophia must think I'm hopeless," he intones. "What's the point in being the best in the world if you take ages to get anything done?" He carries Peg to the kitchen and sets her down gently with a saucer of milk. In a moment, she sniffs the unmistakable smell of the leaves he uses for the odd brew he calls tea. He sits on the floor, slumped into himself, and Peg ignores her own sweet liquid in favor of climbing onto his knee and staring hard at him, wondering at his change in mood.

The door buzzer startles both of them, and Peg finds herself scooped up unceremoniously and carried with her master to the door, where he peers through his peephole and finally uncodes his security system.

* * *

Sophia follows her father and Kara into Q's flat. It's small, neat, and Spartan, just like she'd have expected. What she doesn't expect are the feelings that assault her as soon as she sees the diminutive Quartermaster.

It's not like her. It's not like her at all. She never does anything on the spur of the moment. In an instant, she steps forward, takes his face in her hands, and kisses him with all of her might.

She steps back after a while, blushing at herself and starting to regret her impulsivity. Q doesn't let her go right away. He holds her for a moment, and his arms are surprisingly substantial. "I think so too," he says. Her smile tells him that she knows exactly what he means.

"I take it that a thank you would be irrelevant at this point," Bond says drily. Sophia turns to him and grins, feeling like her face must be as red as a pillar box.

"You're welcome," Q answers after a moment. "I was able to use several programs I've developed over the past few months to narrow down options and track patterns until we finally reached the conclusion of the hunt. Then it was just a matter of mobilizing the assets in the area. Thankfully, I was able to conceal my findings and keep from alerting Carlisle to the fact that I'd discovered his location. The compound itself was surprisingly understaffed. He depended overly on secrecy. I only wish it hadn't taken me so long."

"Thank you for finding me," Kara puts in, looking pleased with the world. Sophia rolls her eyes, anticipating her sister's future fixation on what has just transpired.

"You're very welcome, Miss Kara," the Quartermaster replies.


	24. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

_Some of the best moments in myths like _The Odyssey _are after the battles are finally won and the characters can reclaim their sense of normal life—the best victory of all. _

Bond cracks open the door of his guest room as quietly as he can and peeks at the child sleeping under the coverlet. Kara looks tiny in the large bed, but her breathing is peaceful. He smiles to himself. Some wins are sweeter than others.

He goes out to his living room and finds his daughter on the sofa. She has her own clothes now, but she's stolen his sweatshirt again. He's pleased when he notices it.

Sophia is staring at nothing, the laptop he borrowed for her unopened on her lap. He wonders what she's thinking, but he doesn't want to pry. Truth be told, he's not sure where their relationship finds itself. Three whirlwind days of flights home and official debriefing have kept them mostly apart, and his characteristically reserved daughter has betrayed little of her inner feelings—except for that one kiss. He wants to ask her about it, but he has no idea how to begin.

"What now?" she finally asks. "We don't have a home any more."

Bond dares to put his hand on top of hers. "I—talked to someone at the agency. They're offering you a paid fellowship at Queen Mary University, if you want it."

Sophia's luminous eyes slowly fill with tears as she looks at him. "What—what about my loans?"

Bond stares down at his knees, embarrassed. "I arranged to pay those the day after you told me about them."

"Oh." They sit in silence for a while, and he hopes he hasn't offended her.

"Do you like Q?" she asks after a few minutes. It seems like a non-sequitur, but he understands. She's asking him to give her advice, to be a real father.

"I do," he replies, "but I forbid you to tell him that."

She laughs. "Don't worry. He knows."

"If you have to go out with someone, there are worse people," he grumbles, but he can hardly keep from smiling.

"Thank you," she answers, "for everything." It's enough. She holds his hand in both of hers.

"You know, Mum was right about one thing," she says, staring at the far wall of the room.

"What's that?"

"You are the best man she ever knew."

Bond feels something sting behind his eyes, and he makes a decision. "I probably won't say this ever again," he begins, turning to Sophia and taking her face in his hands. "When I was taken, there was something different this time. I've been in danger a lot. You can't avoid that if you do what I do. But it's never really mattered before. It's always been about me, and sometimes I didn't really care much about making it out alive. This time, all I could think about was you. I couldn't stand the thought that I wouldn't be here to see you do all the things you're going to do with your life. I know I haven't exactly earned the right to be around, but I'd like it anyway."

"I'd like it too," she answers, and she doesn't seem to mind when he kisses her forehead.


	25. Life: An Epilogue

**Life: An Epilogue**

_Unlike the gods and goddesses of Greek Mythology, human beings have the gift of normal, everyday lives. _

Kara knocks on the door of Bond's apartment. He looks slightly annoyed when he opens it, but his irritation quickly turns to a smile. "Hello," he says.

"Hi," she replies, grinning. "I've been sent to ask you to dinner."

"Oh," he says, looking as if he's taken aback. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" she answers, and then she dares to take his hand, glad when he lets her easily pull him into the hallway of the posh apartment building. He's wearing jeans and a grey sweater, just like something her sister would wear.

She's decided that Bond belongs to her, as much as he belongs to anyone else. He needs to belong to someone, and Sophia isn't the sort of person to take ownership. She's just trying to figure out what it means to be somebody's daughter. Kara, on the other hand, feels that being kidnapped together and conning an evil organization into thinking they were related is a perfectly legitimate basis for a beautiful friendship. She keeps hold of his hand.

"Can I call you James?" she asks, as they get into the lift at the end of the hall.

He looks down at her, seeming surprised again, and she smiles innocently. "I'm beginning to think your sister is some kind of saint for raising you," he says drily.

"She's making me see a therapist," Kara sighs. "But it's ok. They let me paint pictures and play video games."

Bond laughs. "Maybe I should tell the agency I need counseling. I could use a vacation."

"You can call me James," he adds.

* * *

Bond enters the apartment just underneath his own, his hand curled around the tiny fingers that belong to Kara Reed, his daughter's impish half-sister. Instantly, he smells the unmistakable aroma of a roast dinner, and he sees Sophia setting a large platter on her dining table, with the Quartermaster next to her, distributing cups and plates.

"Hi Dad," says Sophia, looking up and smiling at him. "Come and have a seat." 007 takes his place at the table, with Kara on his left and his daughter on his right, opposite Q, who seems very at home, almost as if he's a part of the family.

It's a strange gathering, a middle-aged spy with his two girls (as he thinks of them now) and the man responsible for saving all their lives. He doesn't over-analyze. For once, he's just happy.

**A/N: I've had a brilliant time writing this story, and I've enjoyed reading every one of your reviews and messages. Thanks for all your support and encouragement to continue. I may write more in this universe, but for now, I'm glad to finish a story I greatly enjoyed writing. **


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